


Bittersweet Coffee

by Apple_Fairy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apple_Fairy/pseuds/Apple_Fairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waiting for the train has never been so romantically frustrating. Spuk, secret santa gift</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bittersweet Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fic written for the rare pair secret santa exchange over on tumblr. The prompt I went with was snow. Hope you enjoy!

_Jesus Christ,_ he thinks to himself, _why isn’t it_ here _yet?_

Arthur Kirkland took another impatient sip of his coffee, too bitter and too strong for him, but what else could he do when he was in New York and it was snowing and Starbucks sold the most subpar, burning tea on the planet? However, it wasn’t so much the coffee that made waiting for the train so unbearable; however it didn’t make it any better, of course.  Rather next to him, in the corner of his eye, he could see his unwilling partner shivering again. Arthur, in usual selfish fashion when it came to Antonio, of course found in obnoxious and unnecessary.

And in usual fashion he told him this.

“You should’ve known it would snow.” He hissed out of the side of his mouth, adjusting the red scarf around his own neck, “This meeting has been planned for months now, I have no idea why you didn’t plan ahead-“

“Don’t talk to me.” Antonio responded in same strained, angry fashion. He tried to think of a time they had ever talked to each other with softer tones; he almost laughed.

“Besides, this cold is nothing to me.” He turned up his freezing nose, cold biting into his bones as if clothe and skin didn’t exist, “I’m just fine except for the fact _you’re_ here. “

Arthur tried to think of a scathing response, but he was too tired, too cold, and didn’t have enough in him at the moment to even give half a shit. He dared a glance, however, to the nation besides him. God was he only wearing _one_ layer of clothing? Just how dense could you be? Though, perhaps Antonio was more suited to sunny days and warmer, passionate weather, so he could understand.

Arthur was just more used to the isolated frost.

He looked away. He wasn’t worried. Of course he wasn’t. He took another sip, the coffee at least warming the core of his body. God, where was that train, this is so _awkward_ with him here…

And as if the heavens wished to spit on him, the intercom buzzed.

“ _Attention passengers, we’re sorry to announce that the train will be arriving late today, due to weather issues-“_

And as if a conductor has stricken up a band, a flurry of complaints came from everyone around them waiting, colorful language and ‘ _This always happens’_ , ‘ _You have to be shitting me_ ’s. Arthur, beside him, heard Spanish cussing, and it felt so familiar to him, if only because he may have heard it before directed towards himself.

The both looked at each other. Antonio huddled up, shivering violently, Arthur with the warm drink and gloves, both wearing the same expression that said the same thing:

_Fuck, I’m stuck with you._

They looked away.

Arthur took another anxious sip, and Antonio sneezed.

They both began to plan their escape. But the more they thought about the more obstacles came up: my hotel is x miles away I can’t possibly walk that distance, cab fare is too expensive, anyone else I could call to pick me up has plans, at least the meeting went smoothly, but still…

They realized they couldn’t escape.

Antonio sneezed again. Arthur looked at him, suddenly spoke:

“Do you want me to-“

Antonio frowned, sniffled, eyes dewy, glare toxic.

“What?”

Arthur caught himself too. Suddenly in the midst of his thoughts, with the sound of that sneeze he just spoke, as if reacting to it. It was odd to him too that it started out as an offer; _Do you want me to._ To what? What did he want to give to him? Arthur’s subconscious confused him with whatever truth it wanted him to speak.

He improvised.

“Do you…” he coughed, motioned his Starbucks cup as if it could better explain, “…want me to buy you a drink? There’s a coffee shop just around the bend and we’re going to be awhile. And God knows you won’t last another second-“

Arthur caught himself. Mentally cursed as Antonio furrowed his brows, frown deepened. He shifted his weight, crossing arms (most likely because he was freezing but also partially because he was annoyed).

“No, I’m just _fine_.” He spat, “ _Thanks_.”

_Fuck_ , Arthur berated himself, snapping head around, muttering “Fine, have it your way.”

The air grew tenser around them, a gap widened, and for a moment Antonio wondered just how long has that hostility been growing.

He buried his chin into the collar of his jacket, and he thought it was funny how opposite it was. Antonio was never a bitter man, he knew, there were plenty of friends and loved ones he cherished. But he thought it was so odd how Arthur and he were the same but so opposite. Of all the relationships Antonio had, it had taken time. Trust and fighting and establishing the foundation of something unbreakable and comfortable. But with Arthur it was the same sort of building, but into something completely vitriolic. With each insult and underhanded comment and brusque meeting and avoidance, they had built the foundation of a mutual relationship with the shared understanding of _Stay out of my way._

And he felt them again, building, widening the gap, making sure the relationship stayed as shaky as it could be.

So why, he wondered, would Arthur be so _nice_ and ruin all of that?

He glanced to him, all bundled up, Arthur’s breath clouding in front of him, and Antonio began to count his breaths and he grew angrier.

_How dare you_ , he thought, to the man completely comfortable in this cold, so used to it, while Antonio shivered and froze.

It just wasn’t fair he thought, for him to reach out after doing all he’d done. It was too odd. It was too _nice_.

It touched Antonio’s heart and he _hated_ it.

(And yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, at war with their history and his heart, he wanted him to do it again. Buy me the goddamn coffee. Just hand it to me and make it how I don’t like it, and don’t smile, and tell me _Just this once_. God, please do this, do it, spoil me _rotten_.)

Meanwhile, Arthur was trying to decipher the puzzle that was himself.

Over and over he repeated the phase _Do you want me to_ in his mind. What had he intended to say? Why had Antonio’s sneeze prompted that? Now, if it was something different like, _Do you want_ or something he would understand. If he was going to offer him a tissue that would be easy enough for him to understand; that’s common courtesy and he’s a gentleman after all. But to add the ‘ _me’_ felt so personal to him. What can I do for you; what can I do for you that’s out of my way but I don’t mind just tell me and I’ll do it. God that felt so _intimate_ to him, why would he offer that sort of service to Antonio? Hell, he wouldn’t even do that for Alfred, so Arthur tried to figure out what the subconscious was telling him.

What did he want to give him?

And why, in the first place, did he want to give him anything at all? All Arthur had ever given Antonio these past few centuries were insults and jabs and cold shoulders. So why, with frigid snow falling outside with the poor man shaking next to him, was he being so _warm_ to him?

_Because he doesn’t look at all like himself_ , he realized. Arthur glanced to him, Antonio huddled and eyes closed; for a moment he thought he caught him staring but he waved that away. It wasn’t important.

Arthur was used to seeing this smiling idiot laughing and asking the stupidest questions and just so being so _open_. And here now, he was so quiet, he was so angry, he was so like…

…god he was like Arthur himself, he realized.

And for some reason he didn’t like that; You look better when we’re opposite. You look better laughing like an idiot and smiling with everyone else that isn’t me. You look so much prettier-

Arthur blushed.

He felt his chest flood with something then, something warm and sweet and he felt a craving in his stomach. He looked away, horrified with himself, and he felt his subconscious try to make him blurt something else out, but this time he made sure to keep it down:

_Do you want me to hold your hand?_

_Do you want me to kiss you?_

_Do you want to me to run hands down your side and hold you so close I can hear your heartbeat?_

Arthur felt it all the way down to his toes. Oh, God, _no._

Then, the ground began to shake. Once again, the crowd reacted simultaneously: _Finally. Thank God. About time._

All Arthur thought was _No._

He hadn’t figured out yet what he wanted to give Antonio. He still hadn’t solved that riddle. And with the lights shining in the darkness and coming closer, the sound of metal groaning he began to panic. I want to give him something , but what, no there’s not enough time-

“Finally.” Antonio sighed beside him, and Arthur turned to look at him. Antonio was suddenly taken off guard then, with the expression on Arthur’s face, something mixed with desperation and beautiful lovesickness. He felt him grab his arm.

“Wait.” Arthur gulped, and with quickened movements, with his coffee cup having been forced into Antonio’s cold hands, he began to undo his red scarf.

_What the hell is he doing,_ Antonio thought.

He began wrapping it around his neck.

_He’s_ not _,_ Antonio continued.

When he finished, he looked him straight in the eye, confident, secretly scared.

He _did_.

The train pulled up then, doors opening, people pushing past. But the two, with thousands of years between them, of all they had built up, watched it crumble. Their gaze never left, and Arthur nodded, gorgeous and fragile.

“Don’t return it.” He ordered. And Antonio, still dumb-struck, watched him blend in with the crowd, enter the train, watched his blond head try its hardest not to look back.

To be honest, all of it would be ruined for Antonio if he did.

The doors closed, and it would only be later that Antonio realized he missed his train, but for now that didn’t matter. He watched it inch away, caught the scent of Arthur from his scarf. He took a sip from the coffee Arthur forgot to take back to help stable himself.

And try as he might, he could only think one thing.

_My God, he is beautiful._


End file.
